


Blank Page and Swelling Rage

by Glittering_Darmallon



Series: The Sky Above Us Shoots To Kill [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Book smarts aren't everything, Dyslexia, Flashbacks, M/M, Pre-Slash, Rowan asks for Dorian's help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 23:12:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16774840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glittering_Darmallon/pseuds/Glittering_Darmallon
Summary: Frustrated by the intimidating stack of memos to read, Rowan Trevelyan thinks back on some good advice from his mentor. Then, he asks for help.





	Blank Page and Swelling Rage

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from "White Blank Page" by Mumford and Sons

Rowan held the missive in his hand, eyes scanning the page as if simply looking at it longer would suddenly make him understand what all the letters said. That tactic never worked. All he ever seemed to make out were the ‘A’s’ and the ‘Y’s’. It was not as though he hadn’t spent most of his life trying to find a way to have the written word make sense in his head...or have writing the written word actually work with his uncooperative brain.

It had been a labor of loathing for him. He hated it; it made him furious. When breathing didn’t help quell his anger, he thought. _If I can’t beat it; use it._

***

**_9:28 Dragon_ **

  


“You know kid, for someone your age you sure have a lot of anger.”

Rowan looked up to see Sergeant Verkel trudging over and scooted over on the log to give him a place to sit. “You know,” he said, voice somewhat muffled and nasally due to the rag he pressed to his bloody nose, “for a dead guy, you’re awfully cheerful.”

With a chuckle, Sgt. Verkel sat down, giving Rowan a pat on the back. “Good point.” Rowan noticed that whenever the sergeant smiled, his face tattoos moved and he looked a bit like a deranged skeleton, which he supposed was the point. To strike fear in the hearts of darkspawn. Could they even feel fear? He made a mental note to ask sometime.

“So, what was it this time? Someone look at you the wrong way?” he asked, handing over a clean rag and taking the bloodied one Rowan handed him.

“The usual.”

“Ah.” Verkel pulled out his whetstone and began to work on the edge of his blade. “You’d think the other recruits would learn to avoid what they know will piss you off. Not being able to read is not that big of a deal for a soldier. You know that right? There was at least a dozen of us in the Legion who couldn’t.”

“Being casteless and never being taught isn’t the same as being too stupid to read.”

Verkel reached over and tousled Rowan’s hair, sending the red locks askew. “You need a haircut again. You’re not stupid. Who told you that?”

“The first time?” he asked with a sardonic laugh. “Why do you think my family sent me to the Chantry in the first place?”

“I always assumed they couldn’t afford to feed you. Better the Chantry than starving to death.”

Rowan spit blood out of his mouth and onto the ground before covering it up with dirt. “That’s hilarious. Captain Albirio didn’t tell you? I’m the son of a Bann. Feeding me was not a problem. I was a terrible student. Not for lack of trying. It was a disgrace to the family. So they shipped me off.”

Verkel attempted to put an arm around Rowan’s shoulders, but his arm was too short. Instead, he settled for patting him on the back. “There are many types of intelligence, kid. Being able to stay alive in a big city? That’s street smarts. Studying and knowing all the facts from books. You guessed it, book smarts. I’ve seen you sketching away with that stick of charcoal. That’s musical and artistic smarts. But, the way you move when sparring as if you just know where your opponent will be? When you answer the Captain’s questions in training regarding the best choice of action for troop movements? Tactical and battle smarts. Being bad at one does not mean you are stupid.”

Rowan licked his lips, wincing at both the ferric tang of blood and the pain it caused his injured nose. “My mother didn’t seem to see it that way.”

Verkel turned to face him, “Well, forget about them. They sent you away, didn’t want you. But you’re here now and you got me. Not the same, but I’ll take care of you, kid. Just leave it to ol’ Nagan Verkel. Say, if you’re going to get this angry someti-”

“Sometimes? I’m angry all the time.”

Verkel tossed his head back and cackled. “Even better! If you’re going to walk around with all this anger inside you, it’s high time you learned to use it to your advantage?”

“What do you mean?”

Verkel stood and offered a hand to pull Rowan to his feet. “You ever hear of the Berserkers?”

***

**_9:40 Dragon_ **

  


Frustrated and furious with his uncooperative brain, he decided to face the problem head-on. _Think of this as a battle. Fight it. Gain the upper hand._ He grabbed the offending stack of memos, missives, and letters requiring a response and left his quarters. As he walked across the main hall for the library, he swore he could feel that Orlesian couple that liked to spend their time judging others staring at him. Nevertheless, he held his head high and pushed open the door and made his way upstairs.

There, he found Dorian with his nose in a book, which didn’t surprise Rowan in the least. Despite his best efforts to walk loudly as he approached, he still managed to startle Dorian who almost fell out of his chair.

“For the love of Andraste!” he shouted, clutching his chest in one hand and the book in the other. “No wonder Varric calls you Pussycat. You could sneak up on an assassin!”

Rowan chuckled at Dorian’s theatrics. “It was not my intent to scare you.”

“Well for a big guy you sure move quietly. Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company? Come to trade witty and flirtatious banter again?”

Rowan felt his face heat up. “No, not exactly. I...could use your help.”

“Well if our dear Inquisitor needs help for a change, who am to refuse? What sort of help do you require? Fashioning a new casual outfit?”

Rowan looked down at the blue, velvet doublet he wore. “I told Josephine I preferred green, but this is what I got instead. But no. Care for a stroll?”

And that is how Rowan and Dorian found themselves on an unoccupied section of the battlements some five minutes later.

“So, because I am a curious man by nature, I must know. Why the secrecy surrounding this mysterious task you need help with?”

Rowan handed him the stack of parchment.

“Fanmail?”

“No. It’s all things Josephine needs me to go over.”

“So why then are you handing it to me?”

Rowan rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you think you could….couldyoureadthesealoudtome?” he asked, his words running together.

“Didn’t quite catch that.”

“I’m not...I don’t… You are a learned man, well-read. And I...well I am not the best person to ask to read anything.”

Dorian nodded in understanding. “Surely, I thought education was a nobility mainstay, even in the South.”

Rowan rolled his eyes but nodded. “It is, was. I can’t really read. Not for a lack of trying. It’s like...I see the letters, see the words, but they never make sense in my head. And they certainly never look the same. Sometimes I swear they move around the page. I’d ask a scribe, but…”

Dorian lay a hand on his shoulder, “But you don’t want everyone to know about it.”

“Right. So...will you help me?”

Dorian hopped up onto the ledge and sat down, leaning against the tower wall. He patted the space next to him and began to read. “My Lord Inquisitor, we request aid in the Dales…”  
  


As he sat there, taking in the information, enjoying the liquid-honey of Dorian's dulcet tones, that tide of rage he'd held back for years, finally began to ebb.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hello on [tumblr](https://glittering-darmallon.tumblr.com/)


End file.
